Untitled (Sequel to Anything But Lonely)
by BabyCaramel
Summary: Mark & Roger's new relationship as it develops. m/r (duh). Rated for language/mature themes in future chapter. You should probably read my 1st fic to understand this one.
1. Here With Me

((Hey there everyone! Here it is, by popular demand -- okay, by Kait's demand, anyway -- the first chapter of my sequel to Anything But Lonely. It doesn't have a title yet but I'll come up with one eventually. It''s from Roger's perspective but the chapters might alternate between his and Mark's POV. I don't know yet. Beware -- it's, with the exception of a few serious parts, happy. Well, this chapter is, anyway. There'll be plenty of seriousness and angstiness in upcoming chapters. Read and enjoy (hopefully) and review! Thanks!!))   
  
  
Untitled (A Sequel to **Anything But Lonely**)   
  
**Chapter One: Here With Me**   
  
  
I opened my eyes when the first cracks of light seeped in through the window. Normally I'm not a morning person, but this morning was different. This was special.   
  
I looked down at the man still sleeping beside me. Mark. The man I was in love with.   
  
Who would ever have predicted that Roger Davis would fall in love with another man? Nobody in their right mind. And yet, here I was, holding Mark so close I could feel his heartbeat, and nothing had ever felt so right.   
  
I lay as still as possible, not wanting to disturb my filmmaker's rest. Everything about him amazed me, like I was seeing him for the first time: his blonde hair with a slight reddish-orange tint; his pale, smooth skin; his petite body, which fit so perfectly against mine. He looked so peaceful and innocent when he slept. Maybe, if I willed it enough, he would awake retaining that naivete, oblivious to the pain of the world. Like he used to be. The look he had adopted in recent years killed me -- an expression hardened by loss and heartbreak, yet somehow still hopeful. I don't know how, but he never lost that much.   
  
I found it difficult to imagine now, that until a few weeks ago I had refused to admit my love for Mark. And because of that I ran off and almost lost him forever.   
  
But now we were here, we were together. Yesterday, after two months of trying to escape the truth, I came home, ready to open myself up to the unconditional love he ceaselessly offers. We spent the entire night kissing, talking, and laughing, just like old times. (Well, except the kissing part.) Finally around two AM, we fell asleep, curled up together on the couch.   
  
At least an hour must have passed after I woke up before Mark stirred in my arms, mumbling something incoherent. I stroked his arm lightly as his eyelids fluttered open and he squinted in the sunlight.   
  
"Morning, dollface," I teased. "Sleep well?"   
  
He smiled sleepily, that goofy grin I found irresistible. "Great, thanks. Did you just call me dollface?"   
  
I laughed. "No way, you're hearing things. Do you wanna get up?"   
  
"I will. You can sleep some more while I make breakfast."   
  
I leaned over to kiss him but he squirmed away.   
  
"I've been told my morning breath is brutal," he explained, embarassed.   
  
"Who's the bitch who said that?"   
  
"Maureen."   
  
"Figures." I caught him by the waist and planted my lips on his. "I'm man enough to handle it."   
  
"Oh I see, thanks," he laughed, writhing out of my grasp.   
  
I followed him into the kitchen. "Need any help?"   
  
"You can make the coffee."   
  
I wandered over to the counter, where the buttons on the coffee maker stared up at me intimidatingly. "What do I press?" I asked.   
  
"Most people put the coffee and water in first," Mark advised me. He handed me a packet of chocolate pop-tarts. "Here, even you can figure these out." Once I placed them in the toaster, he applauded. "There's hope for you yet, Roge."   
  
"Oh, and I suppose you're the culinary genius of the household?" I challenged. Mark was not exactly famous for his talent in the kitchen; he could operate a coffee machine, a toaster, and a microwave, but he usually didn't venture beyond that.   
  
"At least I can make something," he pointed out with a grin. "Besides, you're the one that eats it, and I never hear a complaint."   
  
"Come here, you," I said, pulling him toward me. He pressed his chest up against mine.   
  
"Yeah?" he whispered in a cheesy seductive voice.   
  
I leaned in so that my lips brushed his ear. "You're an awful chef," I whispered.   
  
Mark pretended to punch me in the stomach. "Am not," he insisted. "Is that true? And before you answer, consider that if you say yes, I'll never kiss you again."   
  
"Then you're the best chef I've ever met," I quickly assured him.   
  
"That's what I thought." He gave me a quick kiss and grabbed two clean-looking bowls from the sink.   
  
I sat down at the table and within a few minutes Mark placed our breakfast on the table: Captain Crunch with soy milk (which I think tastes gross, but I deal because Mark's lactose-intolerant), pop-tarts, orange juice, and coffee.   
  
"This is great," I said. "This is, like, the first actual meal I've had in two months."   
  
"I'm scared to hear what you've been eating lately, if you call this an actual meal."   
  
"Let's just say, I learned real quick to avoid the cops in Santa Fe, who hate street beggars."   
  
"Christ, Roger. . ." Mark murmured, sending me a look of pure concern and sympathy. "And you still saved everything you had to buy me a camera?"   
  
I shrugged modestly. I didn't want him to think that I was trying to make myself look like a hero. That wasn't my intention at all. I had just done what I had to do. Mark didn't deserve anything less. In fact, he deserved a hell of a lot more. He certainly deserved way better than me.   
  
No, I had to stop thinking destructive things like that. It would only serve me to scare me away again. And I couldn't abandon Mark, not when he needed me so much. Hell, who was I kidding? Not when I needed him so much.  
  
"Roger?" Mark's softly inquisitive voice interrupted my thoughts.   
  
"Huh?"   
  
"I asked what you want to do today."   
  
"Oh, sorry. Daydreaming again."   
  
"Anything to do with me?" he asked hopefully.   
  
I smiled. "Maybe just a little." His face lit up with an adorable, excited grin. "I don't know, what do you wanna do?"   
  
"I don't know either. We could just walk around until we find something."   
  
"Okay," I agreed. Then I lifted up my sleeve and sniffed it. Yuck. "But I think I'm gonna take a shower first."   
  
Mark smirked. "Good idea. Me, too. I'll be ready in ten."   
  
"I'll be ready in five."   
  
"Is that a challenge?"   
  
"Readysetgo!" I blurted, jumping up and running off before he could realize what was going on.   
  
"Hey, no fair! You got a head start!" I glanced back to see Mark hastily stand and race to his room.   
  
About five minutes later, I threw on a clean pair of pants and my favorite green sweater then burst into the living room triumphantly. My pride was shattered, however, when I discovered Mark sitting calmly on the couch.   
  
"Looks like I beat ya, Roge," he bragged.   
  
"What the --" I stammered, "How did you. . . I mean, I always -- but you never --"   
  
"Win? I know." He grinned ecstatically, obviously enjoying this greatly.  
  
"Oh, stop gloating," I muttered, only pretending to be angry, as he got up and grabbed his camera. We left the building and started wandering down Avenue B.   
  
As we passed the Life Cafe on 10th Street, I sensed Mark move in closer to me. His hand casually brushed against mine, until he finally got the nerve to hold it.   
  
Shit. What if we saw someone we knew? What would our friends say? Was I ready for people to think I was gay? I had seen first-hand the crappy way homosexuals, even good people like Collins and Angel, were often treated. This could ruin my rock star image. If people knew I was with Mark, the only gigs I'd get would be at trashy gay bars. My career would be D.O.A.   
  
But at the same time, I couldn't pull my hand away. He'd think I hate him and don't want to be with him, which of course I do.   
  
Unconsciously my body stiffened -- just enough (unfortunately) for Mark's astute filmmaker's senses to notice. "What's wrong?" he asked.   
  
"Oh, nothing," I answered way too quickly. Real smooth, loser. He'll believe that.   
  
"Seriously, Roge, what's the matter? You can tell me."   
  
"It's just. . ." I began, unsure. "No, you know what? It's nothing. I'm fine." I smiled and tried to relax.   
  
"Are you sure?"   
  
"Yeah. Really. Don't worry, Mark." I gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "I would tell you if something was wrong."   
  
Thankfully he didn't press the issue further. "Well. . . if you insist." We continued walking, turning a few corners until we ended up in front of Maureen and Joanne's apartment building. "Wanna go visit?"   
  
"Are you crazy? It's eight o'clock in the morning, they won't even be awake yet."   
  
"Oh. Oops. Guess I should buy a watch." Mark laughed at himself.   
  
I had lied. It was actually past nine-thirty and Joanne had probably forced Maureen out of bed close to an hour ago. But I knew Mark would want to tell them about "us," and I just wasn't ready to have our friends know.   
  
"So what is there to do at eight in the morning?" he wondered.   
  
"I don't know. . ." Our conversation lulled as we both tried to think of ideas.   
  
"Hey, I got it!" he said suddenly. "We could go to the park."   
  
"The park?" I repeated. "Cute, Mark, real cute. How old are we again? Twelve?"   
  
"Behave, Roger. It'll be fun." He headed in the direction of the neighborhood park, if you could call it that. In the East Village, the closest thing we had to a park was a fenced-in urban playground with basketball courts and benches housing homeless people.   
  
Much to my surprise, I did have a good time at the park. Mark and I were the only people there, so we had it all to ourselves. First we played a few games of one-on-one (until he realized that he was losing miserably every time and decided to quit) then chased each other around the playground for a while. It was the first time in a while that I've really let loose and just acted like a kid again. The carefree feeling was almost addictive.   
  
Once we were both exhausted, Mark collapsed on a swing and I pushed him back and forth leisurely. "Admit it," he said between pushes.   
  
"Admit what?"   
  
"This was fun. Mark came up with a good idea."   
  
"Yeah, okay. . . just don't let it go to your head." Instead of pushing him, I grabbed the swing and stopped it, wrapping my arms around him from behind.   
  
Mark leaned back against me and glanced down at my watch. "Wow, it's almost twelve already. That was quick."   
  
My face grew red and hot with shame. Why the hell did I have to lie to him? "Well, time flies when you're having fun."   
  
"Yeah, I guess it does." He sighed contentedly. "What do you say we go back home, get some lunch, and just relax for a while?"   
  
"Sounds good to me," I replied. I felt much more comfortable in the privacy of the loft anyway. Not that I was uncomfortable with Mark; that wasn't the case at all. I just thought for sure that everyone was giving us weird looks for holding hands. My rational side told me it was probably all in my head -- but since when did I listen to my rational side anyway? At least at home I didn't have to worry about what other people thought.   
  
After a lunch of turkey sandwiches and Doritos, I sprawled out on the couch. Meanwhile Mark selected a movie from his collection of artsy, independent (read: boring) films. Then he came over and gently laid himself on top of me, resting his head on my chest, and suddenly I didn't mind that he'd chosen my least favorite movie. Hell, we probably wouldn't do much watching anyway.   
- - - - -  
((Oh, get your minds out of the gutter, ladies, he's talking about kissing! You don't think they'd move that fast, do you? Well, let me know what you think so far. I hope I didn't make Roger too out of character. He is so freaking hard to write! Anyway, I'm working on the rest of this story and I'll hopefully have the more posted within a few days.))


	2. Complications of Falling

((Here's the second chapter, finally. Kait, you can stop pestering me for it now. :-) It's not as happy as the first chapter was, but it's got some cute parts. Thanks to all those who've reviewed this so far! Everyone please read/review this chapter, let me know what you think. And yes, the infamous part I posted about on the forum is gonna come up soon, just not yet. :-) )) 

Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me. As much as I would like to have Mark and Roger's cuteness all to myself -- I can't. :-( 

  
Untitled (Sequel to **Anything But Lonely**) 

**Chapter Two: Complications of Falling** (I know that title sucks, but it's all I can think of right now!) 

  
The phone rang, jolting me from my sleep. I glanced over at the TV. The screen was blank, which meant the movie had ended a while ago. Mark was still laying on top of me. I nudged him gently to wake him.  
  
He lifted his head drowsily.  
  
The phone.   
  
That woke him quickly enough. Oh! I'll get it! He rolled off the couch and snatched the receiver. Hello? Joanne, hi! You'll never guess -- yeah, I'm coming to -- what?. . . Oh, that's great! Congratulations!. . . Uh-huh. . . Okay, we'll -- I'll be there in an hour. Yeah. Bye. He replaced the phone in its cradle and joined me at the couch.  
  
What was that about?  
  
Joanne got a promotion at work. She just found out for sure, apparently. Big pay increase, too. So she wants to take Maureen and me out for dinner to celebrate.  
  
Just you three?  
  
Well, I guess. . .  
  
Where do I fit in here? So this was how Mark must have felt every time Mimi and I went out and left him alone.  
  
She doesn't know you're back yet.  
  
That's why you tell her.  
  
I know. But she was so excited. . . I wanted her to have her moment.  
  
So, what, do you want me to just hide until I fit better into your time plan? I snapped, raising my voice. That old, familiar spark of jealousy was beginning to flare inside me.  
  
Mark looked distressed. He obviously couldn't understand why I was so upset. No, I mean, I was gonna bring you along tonight to surprise them.  
  
For Christ's sake, Roger, calm down, I thought. You're the one who wanted to avoid Joanne and Maureen this morning. Stop being such a fucking hypocrite.  
  
I said awkwardly. Then, yeah. We'll tell them tonight. Should I apologize? It felt like the right thing to do. . . but whenever I did, it came out weird and forced, and usually didn't help the situation much. I kept my mouth shut.  
  
We're leaving in forty-five minutes, he informed me, then stood and started toward his bedroom.  
  
Hey, Mark, I called. I didn't mean to -- I mean, I'm. . . My voice trailed off, as if I was incapable of uttering an apology. Mark shook his head and shrugged.  
  
It's alright, he said disappointedly before disappearing into his room.  
  
I should have apologized. I don't know why I didn't. It's just words, Roger, just two simple words. Why did I have to make things so difficult?  
  
I sighed and heaved myself off of the couch. Part of me wished I could be the old Roger again, the one that either ignored or escaped from his problems. That was so much easier than having to analyze, figure out what went wrong, and find a way to fix the problem. Those were things I didn't know how to do, things I always let Mark handle. I couldn't do that anymore.  
  
Okay, baby steps, Roger, I ordered myself. Stop acting like a spoiled rock star and go say you're sorry.  
  
I turned and marched into Mark's room with determination. I should tell you -- I began.  
  
Mark was sitting on the bed, his knees pulled up to his chest.   
  
I, uh. . . I'm sorry. For overeacting out there.  
  
I wasn't trying to hide you, Roge. I wouldn't do that.  
  
I nodded. I know. Chalk it up to my shitty-move-for-the-day. Unprovoked jealousy.  
  
He cracked a tiny smile. You think we could work on getting it down to one shitty move per month or something?  
  
Hey, anything's possible. I moved to sit on the mattress next to my filmmaker and touched his arm.   
  
Aren't you always? he replied, kissing me softly.  
  
- - - - -  
  
As we approached Joanne's apartment I began to feel mildly nervous. Let me rephrase that -- my heart was nearly leaping out of my throat, I was so anxious. What would they say? Did they even want to see me? I mean, for a month I treated them all like shit, just sitting around, withdrawn and wallowing in my own selfish misery. Then without rhyme or reason I get up and take off for two months. I wasn't so sure I would forgive someone who pulled that shit on me. So how could I expect them to?  
  
Mark, this was a bad idea, I can't --  
  
Come on Roger, stop being a wuss. You've got to face your fears some time.  
  
If there's one thing I don't like being called, it's a wuss. So I squared my shoulders and shut up my complaining.  
  
Mark rang the doorbell, and I held my breath. Joanne called as she opened the door, Mark's he-- She stopped mid-word, staring at me in shock. Roger? Oh, my God. . . Maureen! I, uh -- come in, please, both of you.  
  
She stepped out of the way and I followed Mark inside, still worried. I couldn't quite read Joanne's expression. Was she angry? Excited?   
  
Maureen came out of her bedroom. She tugged at a pair of too-tight jeans, not noticing me. Pookie, I can't get these to button. . . She looked up from her stomach and saw me by the door. What the fuck are you doing here? Her face reddened at what had popped out. Then she glanced back down, blushing more with the realization that she was exposing the top of her red lace underwear. Oh, shit. She finally managed to button the jeans, then turned her full attention to me. So what made you decide to come crawling back, huh? I guess you figured you hadn't hurt Mark enough. Had to squeeze in a little more misery before spring?  
  
Maureen, please. . . Mark was obviously very embarassed by Maureen's insults. Although I don't think he should have been surprised.  
  
No, Mark, this needs to be said, she told him before resuming her argument. He was fine without you. He was moving on, getting himself a real life -- one that didn't involve a self-centered asshole for a best friend.  
  
Shut the fuck up, Maureen! I shouted. I hadn't wanted to lose my temper, but how could I be calm with her acting like that? What's your fucking problem? You know, you haven't exactly been a saint to Mark in the past, either, but he forgave you.  
  
Roger. . . This time it was Joanne trying to play peacemaker.   
  
But it was too late; I was past the point of no return. Maureen and I never got along to begin with, and this was not helping. I may not be perfect, and I may not always do the right thing, but don't I deserve a chance? Just one fucking chance? God knows we've given you more than that.   
  
See? You've been out of it for so fucking long that you don't know this, but I've changed, Roger. I know I did some dumb things when Mark and I were together, but I'm different now. We were both screaming furiously at each other.  
  
So what makes you so certain that I can't change? How the hell do you know that I'm not different now too, if all you can do is bitch at me from the moment I enter the room?  
  
I just don't want to see you use Mark any more. He's better off without your sorry ass around.  
  
Yeah? You know what, Maureen? You're not Mark's keeper. You can't lead him around on a goddamn leash anymore. He's capable of making a decision without you telling him what to think and do. He's forgiven me, whether you like that or not, you're just gonna have to live with it.  
  
I heard a door slam shut, and when I turned I saw that Mark had left the apartment. Joanne was standing at a safe distance, a scared, helpless expression on her face.  
  
I looked down at my hands. They were shaking with rage. The last time I'd gotten so worked up was Christmas day, when Mark and I had our huge fight and he stormed out and forgot his key. Even then I don't think I reacted this heatedly.  
  
I had to go find him. Please, Lord, I prayed silently, don't let him be mad at me.  
  
When I opened the door, I saw him downstairs, leaning against the building. I ran down the staircase. I said softly. He didn't respond, so I placed a hand on his shoulder. Hey, I'm really sorry --  
  
Sorry? You're fucking sorry? Mark shrugged my hand off roughly and glared at me. What the hell was that in there, Roger? Why did you have to let Maureen get to you like that? Why did you have to embarass yourself, and me?  
  
I sighed, my pulse still racing wildly. I -- I don't know, I don't know, I don't -- I found myself compulsively repeating the phrase.  
  
Suddenly Mark turned to me and grabbed my shoulders. Get a grip, will you? For Christ's sake, you're acting like you're going through heroin withdrawal again or something. Shit, you didn't start shooting up in Santa Fe, did you?  
  
What? No, no, it's not that. . . Mark, I swear to you, I said vehemently, my thoughts growing a little clearer.  
  
His relief was apparent. Oh thank God, he whispered. Why did you lose your temper like that?  
  
Did you hear the things she was saying?  
  
Yeah, but --  
  
I'm not gonna let someone talk about me like that! Especially not her.  
  
Roger, cut her some slack. You know she says things without thinking sometimes. She's not the most tactful person in the world. . . I snorted. But, you can't really blame her for being upset. I mean, you know that I forgive you and that I love you. But I was pissed at first, too. Just apologize, explain things, and give them a chance. I came around, and so will they. I'm not betting that they'll wanna make out with you like I did, but hey, you can't have everything.  
  
I laughed despite myself. Just being with Mark, hearing his voice, calmed me down and got me thinking rationally again. Yeah, you know what? You're right.  
  
Of course I am. He grinned charmingly. Now, let's go back in there, work things out, and go celebrate like we came here to do!  
  
Yes, sir, I joked. We trudged back up the steps, where Joanne was waiting. Her expression now was one of sympathy.  
  
I tried to calm Maureen down a little, she told us.  
  
Can I talk to both of you? I asked.  
  
She said sure and led me inside. Maureen was curled up in a chair pouting.  
  
I took a deap breath before speaking to them. Here's the deal. . . I did a lot of wrong stuff the last few months. I shut myself off from everyone, I ran away without an explanation, I treated you both like dirt. And I'm really sorry. I can't take back the past, but I can learn from my mistakes and move forward from here. I'd like to be able to start over with you guys. Will you forgive me? Not bad. Maybe I was learning how to be a normal functioning person.  
  
Joanne smiled reassuringly. We forgive you, Roger. Maureen tried to protest, but Joanne shot a look that quickly silenced the drama queen.  
  
Thanks, that means a lot to me.   
  
Is it just me or am I starving? Mark blushed at how little sense that sentence made. He was obviously more than a little desparate to get out of this tense situation.  
  
Let's go eat, Joanne declared. We can take my minivan. I've got a great place picked out.   
  
We all willingly followed her out to the street. Maureen sat in the front passenger seat; Mark and I climbed in the back. Getting out of the building seemed to do some good. Joanne and Maureen began bickering good-naturedly (that must be their favorite pasttime, I swear). Mark and I quietly made fun of the crazy women sitting in the front. Their. . . um, unique relationship was an endless source of jokes for two easily amused guys.  
  
The restaurant was amazing; I'm surprised we were even let in. I thought at places like that you had to wear a coat and tie. We didn't look like bums but we certainly weren't in formal attire.  
  
Once we were seated, the problems began. So what have you two been up to since last night? Joanne asked.  
  
I glanced over at Mark nervously. I think he sensed my apprehension, because he didn't say a word. Oh, not much, you know, I said, forcing myself to sound casual. Just catching up on lost time.  
  
Is that all?   
  
Yeah. . . What kind of answer was she looking for? Did she suspect something? Maybe gays have some kind of sixth sense about other gays.  
  
Shit, I had just called myself gay, hadn't I?  
  
Well, that's what I was, right? I mean, I was in love with Mark, and unless he was hiding some big secret from me, he was definitely a male.  
  
Still, I had never thought of myself that way, even once I decided that I did love Mark. Gay guys. . . they dress up as women, or date guys who dress up as women. They go shopping all the time and wear clothes that actually match. They march in parades and go to gay bars. They act flamboyant, and lisp, and talk about how things are.  
  
That was so stupid of me. Why was I thinking so stereotypically? Angel didn't have a lisp, and the only time Collins ever shopped was for Christmas gifts.  
  
I felt a hand violently shake my shoulder. Withdrawing from the haze of my thoughts, I saw Mark's face. Roger! We need to talk. Now.  
  
Um, okay. What was he so upset about? We excused ourselves from the table and went to the bathroom. It was one of those that had a lounge inside, with couches and coffee tables. Joanne must have gotten one hell of a pay raise.  
  
Roger, what's going on? Mark asked, his voice hushed.  
  
What do you mean?  
  
Are we a thing?  
  
A thing? Well, I guess. . . I hadn't thought about it. I didn't know how stuff like this was supposed to go when it's two guys. I mean, are you asking are we exclusive?  
  
I think that's what I'm asking. . . Mark didn't sound like he knew much about this process either.   
  
Well, do you still want to date other people?  
  
he answered without hesitation. Do you?  
  
  
  
Then I guess that makes us a couple. He laughed a little. This is kinda strange, isn't it?  
  
I smirked. Yeah. So. . . you're my boyfriend now, huh? The words felt foreign on my lips.   
  
Yeah. And you're mine.  
  
I had expected to be freaked out by actually saying it aloud and making it real: I have a boyfriend. But knowing what Mark and I had was genuine, recognizing it and giving it a name -- that felt great.   
  
So, are we going to start telling people now? You know, about us?  
  
Do we have to? I frowned.   
  
Mark raised his eyebrows. What, you'd rather keep this a secret?  
  
I don't think I'm ready to come out of a closet that I didn't even know I was in until a few weeks ago.  
  
he said gently, stepping closer to me. Good thing the restroom was empty. I know it's weird. There's a lot of stuff happening right now that neither of us are used to. But you know what? We're going through it together, and we will survive.  
  
I smiled and slipped my arms around him. He had a way of always knowing exactly what I needed to hear, when I needed to hear it.   
  
I'm not gonna rush you to do anything you're not ready for. But hiding our relationship from our friends will only cause problems. We could really use their support, Roge.  
  
Damnit, why do you always have to be right? I asked, kissing his cheek. Can't I ever be the more intelligent one?  
  
Aww, you're already the sexier one, isn't that enough? Mark ran his fingers along my jawline.  
  
Hey, get a room, no queers allowed in here! a gruff voice called. I turned abruptly to the doorway, where an angry, heavyset man was standing.  
  
You got a problem, old man? I taunted. Wanna start something?  
  
Before he could respond, Mark pulled me out of the bathroom. Cut it out, Roge, we're in a restaurant.  
  
He called us queers! I lowered my voice so the other diners wouldn't hear.  
  
You're really gonna have to learn to choose your battles, babe, he said with a slight laugh. I can guarantee we're gonna hear worse in the future.  
  
That was something I didn't want to think about at the moment. Yeah, I knew we'd have to deal with gay slurs at some point, but I really preferred to stay in denial as long as possible. How could people be so vicious and narrow-minded? I guess you don't realize just how harmful hate and ignorance are until you become a victim of them.  
  
Let's go sit down, I declared, returning to our table. Maureen and Joanne looked up expectantly, almost as if they knew what was impending. We have an announcement to make. Mark was better at talking than I, so I let him continue.  
  
Roger and I have decided. . . well, we've realized that we're in love. It's something we've both known for a while but haven't admitted until now. We wanted you two to be the first to know, since you're our closest friends.  
  
Neither woman looked very surprised. In fact, Maureen murmured, I knew it!  
  
What are you talking about? I snarled.  
  
Hello, it's been completely obvious since the day I met you guys that you two have a thing for each other. Why do you think I broke up with Mark?  
  
Because you ran out of ways to use him for your own amusement?  
  
Maureen huffed and rolled her eyes. Can we just stop this, please? I'm tring to be happy for you.  
  
Well, try a little harder.  
  
This is wonderful news, Joanne interjected. I'm sure you will make a terrific pair.  
  
Mark thanked Joanne, relieved that Maureen and I had shut up.  
  
Yeah, thanks, I echoed. I mean that.  
  
Joanne raised her glass. Let's all make a toast, she suggested. To friendship and companionship!  
  
To making a new beginning, Maureen added with a sideways glance in my direction.  
  
To true love, Mark said, smiling at me.  
  
To trusting ourselves and each other, I completed the toast, and we all took a sip of outrageously expensive red wine. Maybe tonight would turn out okay after all.


	3. Every Time Around

((Alright, kiddies, this chapter's a short one but it's all my writers-block-ridden brain has been able to churn out in a long time. I've been working on more but it just isn't coming to me. :-( So I decided I'll go ahead and post this, before everyone forgets I was even writing a story! Please read/review as usual, and I apologize in advance if this chapter sucks more than usual.))  
  
Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine. Please don't sue me, I'm sure as hell not making any money off this.  
  
  
Untitled (A Sequel to **Anything But Lonely**)  
  
**Chapter Three: Every Time Around**  
  
  
That night I lay in bed unable to sleep. Through the thin wall separating my room from Mark's, I could hear him setting up his camera to record.  
  
"February 15, 11 PM, eastern standard time," he began. "The day after Valentine's. Also the day after Roger returned from Santa Fe." I couldn't tell if this was narration for a future film, or just some sort of video journal he kept. I moved closer to the wall, not fully cognizant of the fact that I was eavesdropping. "Joanne just got promoted and took us all out to dinner. In the middle of the bathroom at Chez Rodolfo, Roger and I decided to make our relationship official. But so much is still left unanswered." He sighed contemplatively.   
  
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm making a mistake by getting involved with him. I just -- I worry that things aren't going to change. Yeah, Roger's into it right now. But wait a week or two, and it's gonna be the same old story: Mark gives his heart and soul to Roger, Roger takes Mark for granted. I don't know if I can do that anymore. I don't know if I can go through another Maureen-type relationship." Oh God, he was comparing me to her? This could not be good.  
  
"Maybe I should break it off before I get too attached. It would be for the best; save us both -- okay, mostly save me -- a lot of heartbreak.  
  
"Oh, who the fuck am I kidding? I already am attached. I love him, damnit. And he loves me too, I know that. The sincerity he had when he came back last night, you just can't fake that. Especially not if you're Roger, who's generally the worst apologizer in the world even when he is being genuine." I could sense a little bit of a laugh in Mark's voice.  
  
"I just don't know if his love is enough to destroy his old habits. I mean, he loved me before, even if it was as a friend, and that didn't keep him from ignoring me. It didn't keep him from skipping town. Why should this time be any different?" Mark sighed again, this time sounding exasperated.  
  
"Maybe I'm analyzing things too much. I always am. I should listen to Mimi's advice and just live in the moment. Agonizing over what might happen isn't gonna make it less likely to happen, anyway." All I heard after that was the squeaking of springs. Mark must have turned off his camera and gone to bed.  
  
My mind was dizzy with my own thoughts tumbling around amongst those I had just heard. How could I possibly convince him that I wasn't going to hurt him this time? He wouldn't fully believe me if I told him straight out. He had already learned to take everything I say with a grain of salt. "Don't listen to him, Mark," I could just imagine him thinking. "Roger starts out with good intentions but those eventually slip away." God, I wanted to take him in my arms and promise I'd always take care of him.  
  
That was exactly my problem. I promised everything -- but how often did I actually follow through?  
  
Suddenly it was easy to see why Mark had a hard time trusting me; I hadn't exactly given him good reason to in the past.  
  
I got up and walked from my room to Mark's and rapped lightly on the door. "You can come in, Roge," Mark called.  
  
He was sitting in bed reading when I entered. "How'd you know it was me?" I asked, cracking a tiny smile.  
  
"Wild guess." He rolled his eyes. "What's up?"  
  
I sat next to him, slipping under the covers. "Is it okay if I sleep in here tonight?"  
  
He smiled. "Sure. Everything okay?"  
  
No, I wanted to tell him, everything wasn't okay, I was just as confused and scared as he. My mouth wouldn't form the words.  
  
It didn't matter, though. Mark knew. All he had to do was look at me and he knew; he always did. I slid down until my head rested in his lap, and he put his book away. My eyes closed as he ran his fingers through my hair. In that position I felt so exposed, so defenseless. . . something I had never allowed myself to feel before. Weakness was undesirable, unmasculine. If there was one thing my father taught me, it was how to be tough.  
  
But I knew Mark would never harm me, a fact that comforted me and made the newness and unfamiliarity strangely appealing. In any other relationship I would have been pressured to be the "strong, dominant man" -- but now, I could be frail and vulnerable, and it was okay. For once in my life, it was okay to admit that I didn't have all the answers, that I wasn't as invincible and self-reliant as I tried to act.  
  
It was okay to admit that I needed Mark as much as he needed me.


	4. Where Or When

((Okay, after way too long of a wait, I'm finally updating! ::cries:: Anyway, I hope this meets everyone's standards, I'm just coming back from two weeks of the worst writer's block I've ever had so that's the excuse I intend to use if this chapter sucks. :-) Pretty please with sugar on top, read and review for me! Love you all!)) 

Disclaimer: Not mine, never have been and never will be. 

  
Untitled (Sequel to **Anything But Lonely**) 

**Chapter Four: Where Or When**

  
I picked up the phone and, glancing down at a crumpled sheet of paper, dialed the number scribbled quickly across it. It rang twice before someone answered, "Hello?"  
  
"Collins -- it's me."  
  
"Roger, you're alive!" His voice blended surprise, relief, and excitement. "We were starting to have doubts before I left."  
  
I laughed. "Yeah, I'm alive. How are things down in Texas?"  
  
"Hot. Even in February, if you can believe it. They tell me the summer's even worse."  
  
"Caused any riots yet?"  
  
"Nope. But there's still time. How's Mark holding up? Has he actually gotten out of the house now that you're back to normal?"  
  
"Actually," I began with a sigh, "Mark's kinda the reason I called. Can I tell you something?"  
  
"Anything."  
  
"You might want to sit down." I inhaled a slow, nervous breath. "Mark and I are in love."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"'Okay?' That's it? 'Okay?'"  
  
"What were you expecting -- 'Oh my God, I can't believe it, Mark and Roger are a couple, this is the most shocking news I've ever heard!'"  
  
I frowned. "Well, something like that. . ."  
  
Collins chuckled. "No offense, Roger, but hell, I've always thought you two belong together. It's about time you got it over with."  
  
His complete lack of surprise irritated me a little. "It's not like Mark and I have been fawning over each other for the last fifteen years!" I protested.  
  
He stifled another snicker, and an embarassing thought occurred to me: maybe we had been, and we were the only ones who weren't aware of it.  
  
"So how long have you been together?"  
  
"About a week. Since Valentine's Day to be exact."  
  
"That's great, Roger. I'm really happy for you two."  
  
I smiled, my annoyance melting away. "Can I ask you a question?"  
  
"It sounds like you just did, so I guess you can."  
  
"Shut up." I paused awkwardly. "When did you realize you were gay?"  
  
I could practically hear Collins nod contemplatively. "When I was seventeen. There was this boy at school that I hung around with a lot, and after a few months I realized I had romantic feelings for him."  
  
"Did it scare you at first?"  
  
"Out of my mind. I was raised in a very strict, God-fearing family where homosexuality was one of the most abhorrent sins. I spent weeks trying to talk myself out of it. I studied Playboy like it was the Bible, hoping that heterosexuality would just rub off on me or something." We both laughed. "But eventually I learned to accept that this is who I am, and it's impossible to hide or change that."  
  
"When did you find out you had AIDS?" I felt like a young, curious child asking so many questions. I had known Collins for years but we had never discussed this.  
  
"It was a year after I graduated from college. I didn't know anything about AIDS when I was diagnosed. I thought it meant I'd be dead by the end of the year. I totally shut myself off from everyone. I was afraid of hurting someone I loved by dying." His tone was kind but suggestive, as if to say "Sound familiar?"  
  
"Finally I decided to educate myself about the disease. I learned that if you take care of yourself, it's possible to live many years after you contract AIDS. Hey, it's been six years for me, my T-cells are relatively stable, and I feel healthy. But, more importantly, I learned that it's okay to love someone and to let them love you. You can't control how long your life will be, but you can control the extent to which you live it. Don't be afraid to love Mark because you've got AIDS."  
  
"I -- I didn't say --"  
  
"I know, but you are afraid, aren't you?"  
  
A deep sigh involuntarily escaped my body. "Yeah."  
  
"Don't be afraid, Roger. You both have a right to spend your lives -- however long or short they may be -- happy and together. That's what Angel would have said, and Mimi. Forget regret."  
  
Everything Collins said always made so much sense. "You're right. As usual."  
  
"Roger, one more thing. . . The chances of contracting AIDS or HIV from sex are surprisingly low when you use protection. It's important that a couple discuss the topic together. When two people are really in love, the healthy partner in a relationship is often much more willing to take that risk than the infected partner would think."  
  
Leave it to Collins to know exactly what I wanted to ask, but was too embarassed. "Thanks. You've been a really big help."  
  
"Any time. Tell the gang I said hello, and I love you all."  
  
"I will, and we love you too. Come home soon."  
  
"I'll be there as quickly as I can."  
  
"Hey, Collins?" I asked quietly, twisting the phone cord around my fingers.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"How come we've been friends for five years and you never told me all this before?"   
  
"You never asked."  
  
I smiled and carefully placed the phone back on the hook. Mark and I had some talking to do. 

- - - - -

My filmmaker arrived home about an hour later, his arms loaded with brown paper bags. "What'd you get?" I asked, peering over his shoulder.  
  
"Everything I could afford. God, it's been way too long since I bought real food. Ramen noodles and Chef Boyardee get sickening after a while."   
  
I pulled an apple from one of the bags and sat down at the table with it. "Yum."  
  
He laughed and quickly unpacked most of the groceries. "Thanks for not helping," he joked.   
  
"Any time," I replied, grinning charmingly. Then I tried to take another bite, but before the apple could reach my lips, Mark intercepted it. "Hey, what the--" He cut me off with a firm kiss. "Okay, that works too. . ." I mumbled as I wrapped my arms around him. Together we walked over to the couch and collapsed on it, our bodies tangled together. "Remind me not to help more often," I said between kisses.   
  
After a few minutes we broke apart and I leaned back on the couch. "Hey, Mark?" I began.  
  
"Yeah?" he asked, intertwining his fingers with mine.  
  
"Have you ever thought about, ya know. . ."   
  
Mark shifted so that he was facing me completely. "Thought about what, Roge?"  
  
"Doing. . . more than kissing?" I could feel my face heating up.  
  
A tiny smile snuck on to his lips. "Is this how you go about soliciting sex? I always thought you'd be kinda rough about it, you know, less talk, more action --"  
  
"Hey!" I swatted at his arm, embarassed.  
  
He laughed. "I'm sorry. Really, I was just kidding."  
  
"Sure you were. I, uh -- I was talking to Collins this morning. And he said I should talk to you about this."  
  
"Well, what do you wanna talk about?"  
  
"I don't know, I've never done this before!" I said, raising my voice in irritation.  
  
"What, like I have?"  
  
I glared at him, then at the same time we both broke into smiles. "No, I guess not. I don't know why I'm getting mad at you. I'm just kinda nervous right now."  
  
"I can tell. No offense, Roge, but I think you're the last person I could imagine having sex with another man."  
  
"Really? 'Cause I've always fantasized about it," I replied sarcastically, laughing. "Why do you imagine people having sex with other men anyway?"  
  
This time Mark was the one blushing furiously. "Shut up! You know what I mean."  
  
"Come here, you." I grinned and pulled him closer. He crawled on top of me, resting his chin on my chest and looking up with innocent, loving eyes. . . the same loyal, bright blue eyes that had captured my attention and fascination since I first saw them in sixth grade. Maybe it was just youthful optimism at the time, but I knew that very day that we would be friends forever.   
  
"Well, do you want to have sex?" Mark asked.  
  
"What, right now?"  
  
He rolled his eyes. "No! I mean, ever."  
  
"Do you?"  
  
"I asked first."  
  
I sighed and considered it. "Yeah. Yeah, I do, eventually. Your turn."  
  
"Yes. But I think we both need time to get used to being together in a more-than-friends way, and to get comfortable with the idea of sex. Everything's kinda overwhelming right now."  
  
"No kidding," I said, relieved that he felt the same way I did. "There's one more thing, though."  
  
"Hmm?"  
  
I frowned, suddenly finding this difficult to discuss. "Maybe. . . maybe it's a bad idea. I don't want you to -- I mean, you know, you know I have --" Why the hell did I always stutter like an idiot when I got nervous?  
  
"Calm down," Mark interrupted. "Of course I know."  
  
"I can't get you sick, I just -- I couldn't live with myself if I gave you AIDS."  
  
He raised a finger to my lips and quieted me. "Roger, listen to me. I'm a big boy now. I'm capable of making informed decisions." He smiled. "Do you want us to spend the rest of our lives together?" I nodded silently. "Me too. AIDS is gonna kill you eventually, and if I get it, it'll kill me too. "  
  
"Please, Mark, don't talk like that--"  
  
"Roger! Just shut up and listen to me for once, okay?" He smiled, but the commanding quality of his voice convinced me to comply. "We can't lie to ourselves that you won't die of AIDS. It's going to happen, and we both know that full well. All we can do is enjoy the time we have together and try not to worry about what the future holds. It's all up to forces totally beyond our control anyway. If I get AIDS, I get AIDS. I can't control my destiny."  
  
His words brought memories flooding back through the gates of my mind._ I trust my soul, my only goal is just to be._ Mimi. God, I missed her. . . more than I had let myself realize the past month or so. Would she want me to be with Mark now? I honestly didn't know the answer to that one. "I really loved her, you know."  
  
Mark looked at me blankly. "Um, okay..." he said.  
  
"Mimi. I loved Mimi."  
  
"What are you trying to say, Roger?" Mark asked, pulling away from me just a little.  
  
"Nothing, just that. That I loved her." Why had I thought of that so randomly? And why did I feel such a need to ensure that Mark knew it?  
  
"I know you did. . . are you okay?"  
  
"What? No, yeah -- I mean, I'm fine." I sighed. "I still miss her sometimes."  
  
Mark placed his hand tentatvely over mine. "It's okay, Roge. It's okay to still miss her, even to still love her."  
  
"How? How can it be okay? Are you saying you're still in love with Maureen?"  
  
"What? No, I. . ." He laughed a little. "This has got to be one of the strangest conversations we've ever had."  
  
I frowned. "Damnit, Mark, I'm trying to be serious. Doesn't it freak you out at all that I still love Mimi? Doesn't it make you even a little jealous?"  
  
He sighed and slid off the couch to the floor. "What do you want me to say, Roger?" he asked, becoming frustrated. "Do you want me to say I'm jealous as hell, that I wish I was Mimi or something? I don't. I like being me. Especially when I'm with you. Shit, it's like you're trying to piss me off or something!"  
  
"I'm not trying to do anything," I retorted. "I just don't want you to think I'm over her completely. I don't want anyone to think I've just forgotten about her."  
  
"Nobody thinks that. They think you're picking up the pieces and moving on with your life."  
  
"I don't know if I'm ready to move on entirely yet."  
  
"Well if you weren't ready then why the fuck did you come back?" His voice echoed loudly through the loft -- or perhaps it was just through my mind -- and stunned me to silence.  
  
Finally I spoke again, softly. "I thought it's what I wanted."  
  
"Thought? You thought it's what you wanted?" A forced, harsh laugh escaped Mark's lips. "Silly me, here I was under the impression that we're in love, but it turns out to have just been one of your crazy, fleeting ideas."  
  
"No, I. . . you're blowing this out of proportion, it's not like that," I tried to explain. This wasn't what I had come here for, this wasn't supposed to happen. . .  
  
"Then how is it, Roger? Just tell me what the fuck it is you want, what you really want, and maybe we can figure something out."  
  
A lump of fear, confusion, and dread settled in my throat, making each word a struggle. "I want. . . I want to be with you. I just need time."  
  
He rolled his eyes. "Time. That's all you always need. For Christ's sake, it's been over three months since she died, Roger, when are you gonna move on? You know, if you want to sit around feeling sorry for yourself and being miserable, fine. But I'm not gonna be a part of it anymore. No amount of crying and depression will bring her back."  
  
I jumped up angrily. "You don't know what it's like, Mark. You don't fucking know what it's like, to love someone more than anything in the world and then lose them!"  
  
Mark's eyes filled with a sort of sad humor, and his voice became hushed and gentle. "That's where you're wrong. I do know, exactly what it's like. . . I lost you when you ran off to Santa Fe."  
  
His gaze penetrated my stony exterior, melting my anger and grief and defensiveness into nothing. A tear slipped down my face, and for probably the first time in my life, I made no attempt to wipe it away or hide it. Damnit, why did he have this effect on me? Since when did Mark have the courage to stand up for himself, and I the courage to show my vulnerability to another human being?  
  
Since we fell in love, I guess.   
  
"Mark, I -- I'm sorry."  
  
He nodded, inching closer to me. "There's always gonna be a special place in your heart for Mimi, I know that. I wouldn't ask you to get rid of it. All I ask is that you give me a little room in there, too."  
  
"I don't think I could keep you out of there even if I tried." I stretched my arm out and brushed his shoulder with my fingertips.   
  
"You say that, Roger, I know you say that. And once in a while you'll even act like it's true. Then the next day something like this will happen, and. . . I'm constantly guessing, I never know what to think."  
  
"Look, I'm not trying to play mind games on you. I'm confused, too. So confused. I can't even keep up with myself sometimes. You just don't know what goes on in my head."  
  
Mark slipped his hand into mine. "Then maybe sometime you can tell me."


End file.
